THE ONE YOU DIDN’T TAKE HOME

THE ONE YOU DIDN’T TAKE HOME

I’m the one you didn’t take home today.
I wasn’t as young and cute as the others,
but don’t worry, that’s okay.

As soon as you left, my prison here became
colder it seemed.  I wrapped my muzzle in
my paws and closed my eyes to dream.

I remembered times when a human loved me,
their embrace, I feel it still.  I don’t know how
I ended up here.  Guess I never will.

People come and people go, but they don’t look
my way.  My eyes follow in hope to meet
theirs, but I’m overlooked without a say.

There’s a little water, tidbits of food.  And I
don’t have my doggie bone.  I never asked for
much in life, just wanted a safe, warm home.

The other dogs don’t talk to me, and I suppose
that’s just as well.  For I’m sure they have no
desire to hear about my living hell.

When night time falls, that’s the hardest time.
I used to sleep in my master’s room.  Now I
hear noises coming out of the walls; dog-haters
I assume.

When the sun comes up, I still wag my tail.
But no one is there to catch it.  I whine a tune
of dog-lost-dreams, hoping someone will hear it.

But the silence comes in whips and snarls.  I bite
the air to prove I’m here.  I place one paw between
the bars, swiping at everything I fear.

I guess since you’re the last human I saw, I wish I
could see you and say that I heard the vet tell someone
else I’m on The List to Die today.

This one request I hope you honor, does there exist
an Infinite Wisdom of the Human Log?
For I just wanted you to write in there that
I would have made someone a Wonderful Dog.